


a capacity for affection

by quillsand



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27353560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillsand/pseuds/quillsand
Summary: It's not a secret that Enjolras and Feuilly have become rather close over the past few months. It's not a secret, but it's not exactly not-a-secret, either.***Started with a single drabble written for Feuilly week 2020 and evolved into a series wherein each member of Les Amis discover that there's more to Enjolras and Feuilly's relationship than they assumed.
Relationships: Enjolras/Feuilly (Les Misérables)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 25





	1. Bossuet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this first drabble for Feuilly week 2020 (day 5: ships ahoy) and have been expanding it in my mind ever since. The plan is for each of Les Amis to have a chapter but as I haven't written them in advance updates will probably be very sporadic!

If Bossuet were asked to pinpoint when it all went wrong he would recount the following: Combeferre was to attend a meeting with a few sympathetic medical students but was then called to an urgent meeting elsewhere. The task was then passed on to Joly. Joly fell ill the evening of the meeting, and so the task was then passed on to Bossuet. Bossuet had indeed gone to meet with the students but, as luck would have it, he’d been caught distributing pamphlets by a couple of gendarmes just as it came to a close.

What followed was a tense exchange and a very intense chase through the streets of Paris.

Bossuet has now been hiding in an alleyway off of the Rue Descartes for nearly an hour, though he knows he must move soon if the growing cold is any indication. Joly will be expecting him back tonight, but it is already late and all his running has led him even further away from their shared lodgings- Bossuet would rather not risk his luck further in travelling back.

Luckily, he knows Feuilly’s rooms to be nearby. Feuilly is one of few in their group who keep regular working hours and usually Bossuet would be loathe to call upon him at this time- however, he is desperate, and he is cold, and Feuilly is a good friend.

Getting past Feuilly’s porter is easy enough; for once Bossuet’s luck seems to be in his favour, for the old man is asleep and the door left open. (He is not sure what this says about Feuilly’s luck.) From there it is a mere four flights of stairs until he is at Feuilly’s door.

Feuilly answers after two rounds of knocking, opening the door just a sliver. “Hello,” Bossuet greets, “fancy sparing a man from ending up in prison tonight?”

Feuilly opens his mouth to speak, then hesitates. He glances over his shoulder before stepping aside to let Bossuet in. 

Bossuet smiles widely, laying a hand on Feuilly’s shoulder as he enters. 

"I take it the meeting didn't go so well?" Feuilly asks, shutting the door behind him and hurriedly stepping back in front of Bossuet.

"Hm? Oh no, the meeting went splendidly, it was what happened after the meeting that didn't go so well. I lost the tail, if that’s what has you troubled.”

“Ah, it’s not that, it’s simply...” he trails off and Bossuet frowns.

Behind Feuilly, a movement in the corner of the room catches Bossuet’s eye and a wave of understanding passes over him.

"Ah,” Bossuet says before either Feuilly or Enjolras- for it is indeed Enjolras, sitting in Feuilly’s bed and clad only in a shirt- can speak. “Enjolras, hello!"

Enjolras inclines his head in greeting. “Bossuet.” 

Bossuet looks back to Feuilly, pieces slowly fitting into place. Now that he casts his mind back, he can recall Enjolras and Feuilly becoming rather close as of late. And whilst it’s certainly not abnormal for two friends to share a bed, Bossuet cannot help but to feel almost as though he has intruded upon something private.

He hastens to rectify the situation. "I see I'm not the only one who's taken refuge in your lodgings tonight, Feuilly. Only, it appears Enjolras had the good sense to be chased by gendarmes earlier than I, and has already claimed the best position as a result.” He sighs melodramatically. “Nevermind. I shall cease my disappointment and make myself quite content to sleep on the floor, if you'll have me."

Feuilly’s smile, when it appears, is full of gratitude. “Certainly,” he says. 

Feuilly assists Enjolras in dragging an old mattress of Feuilly’s into the centre of the room and Bossuet settles down happily, smiling as the two of them return to the bed. The way they hold each other reminds Bossuet of long nights spent in Joly’s arms, and he closes his eyes with a smile, a rather disastrous evening having turned into a rather pleasant one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave kudos/comments if you feel like it :) I'm on tumblr at @thelawsofdaylight!
> 
> Also, the title is from Feuilly's brick intro (the Denny translation though asdfgfds)


	2. Joly

Joly is not five minutes away from the Musain when he realises that he has forgotten his cane. Stopping abruptly in the middle of the street, he swats his hand against his forehead and swears. Beside him, Bossuet stumbles.

“I have forgotten my cane,” Joly says in explanation, already thinking ahead to when he will next be at the Musain, but oh- he is busy tomorrow and will not have a chance to retrieve it until Monday, at which point it may very well have been claimed by another young man who had mistaken it for his own misplaced cane- or worse, accidentally thrown in the fireplace whilst Joly was in class and- no, that will not do. “Apologise to Musichetta for me, I will catch you up!” 

Bossuet nods and turns away, his elbow sliding out from Joly’s as Joly runs off in the opposite direction. The urgency isn’t strictly necessary- he doubts his cane could have gone far in his five minute absence- but the running makes him feel giddy, like he has important matters to attend to (not that securing the whereabouts of his cane isn’t important, but. Nevertheless.) 

Joly runs, and as he runs he wonders how it is he came to leave his cane in the first place. He is sure he’d leant it against his chair, as always, so- ah, but of course. Joly laughs, remembering fondly how he’d challenged Courfeyrac to a duel over the other man’s atrocious pun, and how the two of them had played at exchanging blows on the tabletop until Louison had materialised and yelled at them to stop. He must’ve misplaced it afterwards in all the excitement.

There are voices still inside the backroom when Joly ascends the stairs, and he waits for a moment with his ear at the door. Just in case. 

“-must know that he’d never say anything-” a voice is saying and Joly quickly matches the tone and inflection to that of Feuilly. 

Joly smiles. Feuilly is kind and Feuilly will not have let any harm have come to his cane. He can only guess that the other voice belongs to Enjolras, for he is usually to be found at Feuilly’s side these days. It is sweet, Joly thinks, that they are becoming such good friends. 

Joly immediately rethinks that statement when he pushes the door open to reveal Enjolras and Feuilly- not engaged in political debate as he had expected, but in a passionate kiss instead. And that makes sense too, he supposes, for he did not- well, he did not know that the two of them were so inclined, but then again, why would he? He thinks of Bossuet, probably home to Musichetta at this point, and smiles. They are perhaps not as alone as it might seem, and if he weren’t quite so sure that he should keep this a secret, he would be rushing home to tell them at once. But no, it would be wrong to tell, just as it would be wrong even to dwell here when he knows that Enjolras and Feuilly aren’t aware of his presence, not when they haven’t-

Enjolras hums before breaking the kiss and Joly is at just the right angle to see the sweet smile on his face when he looks at Feuilly, and- no, he definitely shouldn’t be here. 

He is about to turn around and abandon the whole endeavor when Feuilly speaks, “Look,” comes his soft voice, “it appears Joly has left his cane.”

“Oh,” says Enjolras, equally as quiet. “I could return it to him on my way home, I suppose.”

“Are you passing by that way?”

“I hadn’t planned to, but I do not mind.”

Joly takes a deep breath. He cannot let a friend go out of their way for him, not when he is right here and perfectly able to retrieve his cane himself. There is only one thing for it. He closes the door gently and takes a few light step backwards then makes a deliberate noise as he starts towards the door again. He pauses once he reaches it, just briefly, and then flings the door open. 

Had he not witnessed the scene of their embrace just a minute before, he might not have believed that it’d happened. They are now sat at the table they were previously standing near; Enjolras with paper in front of him and a pen in his hand, Feuilly beside him, reading over his shoulder and muttering quiet suggestions. 

Joly is impressed.

He clears his throat, officially announcing his presence and the two men turn at once. Feuilly smiles. 

“Joly! We were just talking about you. Back for your cane, I presume?”

“You presume right!” Joly says cheerfully, retrieving his cane from where it remains leant against the table. “Thank you for keeping it safe for me.”

“Thank you for returning for it,” Feuilly replies. “You spared Enjolras a trip across Paris.”

Enjolras shakes his head in protest. “Joly’s lodgings are hardly that far.”

“Still,” says Joly quickly, for it looked as though Feuilly was about to argue the point further. He reaches a hand out to grasp Enjolras’ shoulder. “I am grateful for the sacrifice, even if it needn't be carried through. You are both dear friends, and I treasure you dearly. Now, I really must be going, I have businesses to attend to. Goodnight!”

They echo his goodbyes; Joly takes off with a wave, cane firmly in hand. There is a skip in his step as he walks home, one that is matched by the smile on his lips. He imagines he must look quite ridiculous for being so happy, but he cannot find it in himself to care. He thinks of Bossuet and Musichetta and himself, and then he thinks of Enjolras and Feuilly- for it makes perfect sense now that he is over the initial shock. His friends are in love- or at least, they appear so- and so is he, and everything seems quite wonderful in the evening glow of the city.

Joly imagines the warm bed he’ll be able to fall into once he’s home, the two bodies that wait for him there, and thinks that he probably couldn't be happier if he tried. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joly is like 'and now for no reason whatsoever I am going to tell you that I love and treasure your friendship :)"


	3. Jehan

Jehan fidgets where he's sat opposite from Bossuet and Joly in the back room of the Cafe Musain. He has an engagement in an hour's time- less of a party and more of a gathering, hosted by one of Bahorel's acquaintances. It will be Jehan's first time meeting them and he is nervous, as he always is when meeting new people, but it's the good kind of nervous- the type that brings with it an inspirational sort of energy.

He plans on being suitably early to this engagement, which is why it's rather distressing that Enjolras is still caught up in conversation with Feuilly and has yet to give Jehan the pamphlets he's been asked to look over.

After a few more minutes of listening in to the easy conversation of his friends, Jehan sighs. His need to be on his way outweighs any worry he feels over interrupting Enjolras and Feuilly's conversation and so he makes his way over, announcing his presence at their table with a soft greeting.

"Pardon, Enjolras, but did you still want me to look over those pamphlets? Only, I have to be going soon, you see..."

It only takes a second for recognition to flash on Enjolras' fine features and then he's hurriedly rooting around in his bag, mumbling to himself. 

"Here you are," he says, producing a thick stack of papers and handing them to Jehan. "My apologies."

"Thank you," Jehan says, "I'll return them to you next meeting."

Enjolras nods, and Jehan parts, quickly sparing a wave for Feuilly, who returns it with a smile.

Once home, Jehan deposits the pamphlets on his dresser and thinks no more of them until he returns home that evening.

The party had gone wonderfully, full of people whose conversation he'd found enthralling and whose laughter he'd chased. Bahorel had dressed in one of his most rowdy waistcoats and Jehan remembers his look of delight at the judgmental gazes it'd prompted in the street. (He also remembers the way Bahorel's mouth had felt upon his, secluded in a dark corner of their hosts living room. But that's a different matter.)

His mood is pleasant enough when he returns that he decides to tackle the pamphlets straight away. There appear a great deal more than usual and it would be good to make a start on them, even if he does not finish.

Jehan makes himself tea and settles into his task, high on the wine and the thrill of an evening spent in good company. The further into the pamphlet he gets, however, the more confused he becomes. It is not up to the usual standard of Enjolras' rhetoric- the formality is all but gone, and his thoughts spiral around the page as if he were recording them without thought to flow or structure. His argument is as meticulously constructed as ever, but without the clear focus that Jehan has come to expect.

He addresses the subject as _tu_ \- which isn't particularly unusual for an essay meant to display the merits of Republicanism- but together with the rest, the tone it conveys is rather different to his usual writings.

The papers are already dotted with Jehan's corrections and suggestions when he gets to the page that changes it all. About halfway through the essay, the rhetoric (what little there had been) stops, bleeding into something of a far more personal nature. Jehan pauses where his pen is hovered above the writing, because surely it can't be-

He skims the next few pages and comes to a halt. Thus dawns the realisation that these aren't the pamphlets Enjolras had asked him to look over at all, but a letter. He must have mixed them up in his haste and handed Jehan the wrong document. Jehan feels panic creep up his spine at the thought of how Enjolras will react to his having read- and edited- it. He obviously hadn't meant for Jehan to see, and whilst Jehan feels secure knowing he hadn't intentionally intruded upon Enjolras' privacy, the end result is the same.

Just when he is pondering what to do about the whole situation, there is a knock at his door. 

Jehan goes to open it at once, revealing none other than Enjolras himself on the other side. 

Enjolras looks as composed as ever, and he smiles at Jehan when Jehan steps aside to let him in. 

"I'm afraid I gave you the wrong papers earlier," Enjolras explains, placing another, thinner stack on Jehan's desk. "Apologies- I take it you haven't got around to looking through-"

He trails off, perhaps having spotted the mess of papers all over Jehan's floor.

"I didn't realise," Jehan begins cautiously, "that it was not a pamphlet I was editing until I was rather far into it. I apologise. I stopped reading as soon as it became clear that these words are of a more personal nature, but I'm afraid the first few pages weren't spared any mercy by my pen."

It's almost impossible to know what Enjolras is thinking behind his cool gaze. Jehan hurriedly sets to gathering up the loose papers of the letter, only stilling momentarily when his eye catches sight of a familiar name, penned in Enjolras' hand. 

_Of course._

Trepidation all but gone, Jehan smiles with sudden giddiness, barely managing to contain his grin as he turns back to Enjolras and hands the letter over. 

"I didn't know you were courting Feuilly."

Enjolras splutters; Jehan doesn't believe he's ever seen him do so before. For some reason, it makes his grin grow wider. "We're not courting." Enjolras says, quick to compose himself. 

"I could've helped you woo him," Jehan laments. "I'm very good at it, you know."

Enjolras ducks his head. "I'm sure you are." 

"I could look over the rest for you if you like," Jehan offers, growing bolder now that he knows nothing will be made sour between them. "There are some suggestions of a more... intimate nature, I could offer."

When he looks back up, Enjolras' face is stricken. "No, thank you."

Jehan takes pity on him. "I'm only teasing," he says, reaching out to touch their hands together. "I think it's wonderful."

Enjolras relaxes almost immediately; he clutches the letter less tightly to his chest and squeezes Jehan's hand where it rests in his own.

"Don't let me keep you any longer," Jehan says, "you have important mail to deliver, after all."

Enjolras nods with a small smile. He seems on the verge of leaving when he reaches out for Jehan's shoulder, and, with an air of sudden solemnity, speaks: "I would ask that you keep this between us."

"Of course," Jehan agrees readily. "But why? You know our friends are hardly best positioned to judge."

Enjolras shakes his head. "It's not that. We'd rather keep it quiet, you understand. For the time being."

Jehan nods his head once more, feeling the giddiness creep back up his spine; he is more than happy to assist in keeping a secret, especially when that secret includes a love affair between two of the people he holds most dear. 

Enjolras bids him farewell after that and Jehan lets the full force of his grin show once the door is closed behind him. He thinks of Enjolras' smile as it was a few moments ago, small and secretive. He thinks of the tender care Enjolras had shown the letter, the concern that had hung off of his frame when he came seeking it. 

Yes, Jehan thinks, Feuilly is one lucky man indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really thought Bahorel was going to go next but Jehan jumped in and demanded the spotlight so here we are! Bahorel's chapter will almost definitely be next (👀) because I have an outline but as for when it will be up... only time will tell.


End file.
